Wednesday Poetry Blogging

ON I-77

My wife sits tense behind the wheel of our Jeep.
White knuckled hands hold the wheel,
Her wrist is rigid as she grips the gear shift.

She's as fine a driver as you'll find,
But a pedigreed flat-lander,
Pure-bred in Northwest Ohio's planar landscape --
A place without precipice or peak.

Now we view West Virginia
And western Virginia
Riding ridges of high hills,
Mountains majestically true blue
Their beauty soaring over gloriously gorgeous gorges.

But she is
Uncomfortable on overpasses
Cringing at cliff-side curves
Teeth-clenched climbing crests
Timorous in tunnels.

My wife sits tense behind the wheel of our Jeep.
In the valley where the column of her spine
Braces her upright
Between twin ridges of her shoulder blades
Muscles tighten
Tense against this tour's tortured topography:
Just one more thing we share.